


Improving with Age

by sevenlbs



Series: Improvements [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, Established Relationship, Fatlock, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 09:16:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5411312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenlbs/pseuds/sevenlbs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years with John, Sherlock's not as skinny as he used to be. John loves it. Sherlock decides to have a little fun with that knowledge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Improving with Age

John’s knee ached as he rounded the corner to their flat, lugging shopping bags as he went. Stairs weren’t quite as fun as they used to be, and his knee was starting to act up in damp weather. Unfortunately, London had plenty of that.

Sherlock was sitting in the kitchen, bent over the microscope: a familiar, comforting sight. John set down the shopping and dropped a kiss onto Sherlock’s thick, dark curls, threaded faintly with silver. “Any progress?”

“Mmm,” Sherlock said, which could mean any number of things. John cleared a space on the messy counter for the bags and picked up a large brown envelope balanced on top of the sugar bowl. “What’s this?”

“From Lestrade. He found them in his desk. Mementos, apparently.”

“Mementos?”

“Photos, I think. I haven’t looked. He said he thought we might like them. Sentiment, I suppose.”

John opened the envelope. Inside were a stack of photographs, many at least a decade old – some even older. Shots from crime scenes, newspaper clippings of cases. All of them featuring Sherlock, and some with John as well. John grinned.

“Oh, god. You didn’t look at these?”

“I’ve been busy.”

John held up the first one, a shot of the two of them in 221B. Sherlock was standing, hands on hips, likely mid-deduction. In the photo, John was staring at Sherlock with a fond, wondering expression.

“Our first case,” Sherlock murmured, holding out his hand. They peered at the photo together. “Fifteen years ago?”

“At least.” John couldn’t help grinning. “I’ve never seen this before. Jesus, look at us. We look so young.” He glanced between the Sherlock in the picture, nearly gaunt, dark hollows under his cheekbones, to the Sherlock sitting next to him. He chuckled. “And we look so _thin_.”

Sherlock snorted a laugh. “True, but – “ His brow furrowed. “What do you mean, ‘we?’”

John looked down at Sherlock, taking in the the subtle changes that were easy to miss over years of living with someone. “I mean ‘we.’ You think you’re immune to the passage of time, do you?”

“No, not that.” Sherlock glanced up at John, his eyes traveling over John’s body. They lingered on John’s waist for a telling moment.

John sighed and patted his stomach, decidedly rounder than it once had been. “Well, this is obvious,” he said. “But look at you. In that photo you look about a day away from malnutrition. You can nearly span your own waist with both your hands. You don’t look like that anymore, thank God.”

Sherlock peered at the photo, then dropped it on the table and stood up. He looked down at himself, clad in pyjama pants, t-shirt, and dressing gown, and put his hands on his hips.

John grinned. “There’s plenty of distance now.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed. He ran a hand experimentally over his middle, which was no longer entirely concave. John noted with mild surprise – and something like arousal – that Sherlock was, in fact, getting a bit of a belly.

“Shut _up_.”

“I wasn’t going to –”

“Genetics.” Sherlock waved a hand. “No matter, there’s a cold case in the file, I can fast at least a week if I start working on it –”

“Yeah, nope. No, Sherlock, you’re fine.” John grinned at him. “Better than fine. I _like_ you like this. It looks like you take care of yourself.” He paused. “Or at least, _someone_ takes care of you.”

Sherlock huffed in annoyance and adjusted his pyjamas. John stepped closer, scrutinising his partner. He still couldn’t be described as anything other than slim, but he was no longer skinny – years of active detective work and John’s nagging had filled out his wiry frame. His chest and shoulders, once bony, were now broad and solid. He’d never be stocky, like John, but now he looked athletic rather than skeletal.

“You’ve mostly put on muscle,” John added. “Which is completely unfair.” He glanced down at himself again. “And honestly, I’d better stop eating altogether if you’re thinking like that.”

Sherlock looked at him in surprise. “Why?”

“Bit of a double standard, hmm? Sherlock, I’m not exactly thin anymore.”

Sherlock blinked. “You were never thin, John.”

John laughed outright. “Thanks. Thanks very much.”

Sherlock studied him again, his expression softening. “If it helps, you’ve never been fat, either.”

“No?” John smoothed a hand over the front of his shirt. “I’m certainly giving it a try these days.”

“You’re not fat,” Sherlock insisted, stepping close enough to run a hand up John’s side. “Just… round, is all.” He reached out to undo the top button on John’s shirt. John’s belly brushed against Sherlock’s pyjamas.

John flushed. “I _should_ drop a bit of this,” he said ruefully.

“On the contrary.” Sherlock undid another button.

John raised an eyebrow. “You just like to look thin in comparison,” he chided. “Admit it.”

Sherlock hummed impishly, beginning to chuckle. John reached for him, sliding a hand up under his shirt. Sherlock flinched. On closer inspection, Sherlock’s belly was definitely rounding, curving out just below his navel. “Oh, I like this,” John said. “This is very good. Very very good.”

Sherlock gave him a wicked smile. “Oh, I see,” he said, putting a hand over John’s growing erection. “Fascinating.”

“I’ve spent years of my life trying to get you to eat. You’re just getting this now?”

“I thought you were being tiresome.”

“Stop talking,” John said, starting to laugh. He pulled up the hem of Sherlock’s shirt and bent to press a kiss below his navel. “Let’s continue this inspection in the bedroom.”

~ ~ ~

John began to notice that he no longer had to prompt Sherlock to eat dinner. That week, Sherlock cooked breakfast on three separate occasions. And when John got home from work the following Monday, Sherlock had already ordered a staggering amount of takeaway. John tucked in gratefully, distracted by an old spy movie Sherlock had found on Channel Four. He barely noticed the meal disappearing until Sherlock put an empty carton on the coffee table and leaned back on the couch, one hand on his middle. It wasn’t the only empty carton.

John stared at the table, then at Sherlock. He looked down at his own dish. “Did you –”

“Mmm,” Sherlock said, edging his trousers a bit lower. “Hungry. Didn’t realise.”

John blinked at him. “You were _hungry_.”

Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow and swung his feet up on the couch.

~ ~ ~

The next week, Sherlock ate breakfast. Also lunch. Dinner, always. And occasionally he kept a packet of biscuits open next to his laptop.

The week after that, Harry got pneumonia. John stayed for five days, listening to her cough and fetching antibiotics, making sure the vodka was out of the house until she could recover. When he got home, Sherlock was sitting on the couch with his laptop.

“Good,” Sherlock said. “There’s been a murder in Southwark.”

“I missed you too,” John said, but his eyes traveled over Sherlock’s long, familiar form. Something was slightly different. The buttons on Sherlock’s pearly grey shirt were strained more than usual. And his trousers looked tight, even for Sherlock. John crossed the room and sat next to him, leaning in for a perfunctory kiss. “Harry’s fine, if you were wondering.”

“You wouldn’t be home if she wasn’t.”

John sighed, but his attention was diverted by Sherlock’s clothing. Up close, it was apparent that Sherlock’s buttons were definitely struggling. John hooked a finger over the waistband of Sherlock’s trousers, which felt uncomfortably taut. “What have you been up to, hmm?”

“I’ve no idea what you mean.”

“You, of all people, should never play dumb.” John tugged on Sherlock’s waistband.

“Maybe I cooked a bit while you were away,” Sherlock said, watching him, a smile at the corner of his mouth. He shut his laptop.

“I think you must have,” John said, and reached in to unfasten the clasp of Sherlock’s trousers. Sherlock sighed in relief, his belly relaxing as the trousers fell open. His distinctly rounder belly.

“Thank God.” Sherlock sat up a bit, setting down his laptop and putting a hand on his middle. “I should send these to the tailor.”

John’s eyes widened, and he gave a disbelieving laugh. “What did you do, eat every minute I was gone? Christ, look at you.” He patted Sherlock’s stomach. “Looks like the tailor’s got a bit of work to do.”

“Perhaps you should inspect.” Sherlock grinned at him.

“You bastard.” John leaned in, nuzzling a kiss into his neck. “You’re doing this on purpose.” His hands roamed over Sherlock’s body: thicker, definitely. And his stomach was approaching an adorable, undeniable pot belly – just a very small one.

“I may have… overdone it,” Sherlock said. “I thought I’d test out my metabolism. As an experiment.”

“Test out your metabolism.”

“It’s not quite what it used to be.”

“What about your suits?” John raised his eyebrows. “You love those suits.”

“Some of them are a bit old. And I’d much rather buy new ones if this experiment has the effect I’ve theorised.”

John gulped. He was suddenly aware he’d gone hard as a rock in under a minute. Damn it. Damn Sherlock for figuring this out and using it to torture him. Sherlock leaned forward and plunged a kiss into his mouth, deep and flat-out dirty. John groaned. They pulled apart, Sherlock’s eyes glinting.

“You don’t care if you put on weight,” John said, “as long as it drives me mad?”

“As I said, an experiment,” Sherlock said, and dove in for another kiss.


End file.
